


On the Wanderings of Legolas and Gimli

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: General, Post-War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2004-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-24 17:45:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3777753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever wondered what Legolas and Gimli did after the War of the Ring? Hopefully this explains it in a humourous and Tolkien-esque style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

It was near dawn over the glade where the two were camped, and Legolas was standing watch while Gimli slept. A particularly loud snore came from the direction of the dwarf, and Legolas winced. He had traveled with Gimli for - it must be over three years now -, but still had not grown accustomed to his snores. They were traveling through Mirkwood now; to Legolas’s home in the heart of the forest.  
He and Gimli had promised Aragorn that they would bring some of their own folk to Gondor, the Elves to bring birds and fair trees that would not die, and the Dwarves to work with the stones of Minas Tirith.  
It was the year 1321 of the Fourth Age, in the Gondorian reckoning, late summer. They had been leisurely journeying for four months and were very close to one of their goals: Thranduil’s palace in the heart of Mirkwood.  
Gimli muttered something into his beard and rolled over in his sleep. Legolas smiled fondly and began to prepare a breakfast: some fruit and dried meat. He sang in Elvish as he worked, a song to Elbereth.

“A Elbereth Gilthoniel!  
silivren penna miriel  
o menel aglar elenath!  
Na-chaered palan-diriel  
o galadhremmin ennorath,  
Fanuilos, le linnathon  
Nef aear, si nef aearon!”

Gimli awoke just as the sun’s first rays shone through the canopy of leaves overhead. He shot a glare at Legolas, which the Elf ignored, smiling cheerfully at him.  
“Good morning, Gimli. I have good news as well. We are less than a day from my father’s palace. We should reach it three hours after the noon meal, going quickly.”  
“It was a good morning, until you woke me with your singing,” Gimli grumbled as he ate breakfast. “Why do Elves sing all the time, anyway?” Legolas finished his fruit and began to pack up his bedroll, answering.  
“I’ll give you two guesses.”  
Gimli put the food away and slung his pack across his back. He hurried to catch up with Legolas, who was already walking along the broad pathway.  
“Just to annoy anyone you happen to be traveling with?”  
“No. One more.”  
“You think it helps the digestion?”  
“Wrong again.”  
“Well? Why do you sing all the time?” Gimli growled as he stalked alongside his tall friend.  
“It makes the trees grow taller. Here, I’ll teach it to you.” Cheerfully ignoring the dwarf’s protests that he most certainly did not wish to learn any Elvish song, Legolas began to sing again, this time in the Common Tongue so that Gimli could understand him.  
“ O Elbereth Gilthoniel!  
We still remember, we who dwell,  
In this far land beneath the trees,  
Thy starlight on the Western Seas.  
Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear!  
O Queen beyond the Western Seas!  
O Light to us that wander here  
Amid the world of woven trees!”  
After the strange pair had walked for several hours, Gimli spotted an Elf walking down the path towards them.  
“Legolas! Look!” At the dwarf’s hissed warning, Legolas looked up. His face brightened, and he ran towards the elf, crying as he did so,  
“Maedhros!” The other elf seemed to recognize him, and he also began running.  
“Ai! Na vediue, Legolas! Mae govannen!” They met about halfway, and clasped each other’s shoulders in a typical Elvish greeting. They began walking towards Gimli, speaking in Sindarin together as they walked. When the Elves had reached an impatient Gimli, Legolas turned to him.  
“Gimli, this is my younger brother Maedhros. Maedhros, nin mellon Gimli Gloinen.” Gimli bowed and greeted the light-haired Elf in his own tongue.  
“Mae govannen, Maedhros.” Maedhros looked surprised, then laughed good-naturedly.  
“Legolas, how did you manage to teach a Dwarf Sindarin?” Gimli spoke before Legolas, who looked nearly as surprised as his brother, could answer.  
“He didn’t. I’ve picked up a few words from Aragorn as we traveled.”  



	2. Legolas's Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever wondered what Legolas and Gimli did after the War of the Ring? Hopefully this explains it in a humourous and Tolkien-esque style.

Just as Legolas had said, the three companions (Maedhros had joined them) reached the palace three hours after the sun’s high. They were greeted by a group consisting of King Thranduil, Legolas’s older brother Felagund, and several other Elves, apparently Thranduil’s advisors.  
Legolas bowed before his father, who smiled at him fondly, and clasped his shoulder affectionately. Legolas was then greeted by his brother, who was dark-haired like his father.  
The king then turned to Gimli, with some mistrust in his eyes. Legolas saw the direction of his glance and hurried to explain.  
“Ada, mellon nin Gimli Gloinen. O i Company.” The king looked displeased, but nodded and spoke.  
“I have heard much of you, Gimli, son of Gloin. You are welcome to my home.” Gimli bowed to him.  
“I thank you, my lord Thranduil, though I do not plan to intrude upon your hospitality for long. I have a somewhat pressing errand to my friends and kin in the Lonely Mountain and beyond.” The king looked surprised at his courtesy, but quickly concealed it. They entered the great gates, and Gimli looked about him in amazement.  
They were in a large stone cavern, cunningly shaped with skill that threatened to surpass that of the Dwarves. The roof was supported with wide pillars, intricately worked into fair Elven patterns.  
Legolas was busily conversing with his brothers and father, and did not notice the dwarf’s ill-concealed surprise and admiration. After a moment, Legolas turned to Gimli.  
“Forgive me, my friend. I have been caught up in my family’s news and nearly forgot that you were also here. I will show you to your chamber-or do you wish to share mine?” Gimli looked up at the Elf.  
“I will most certainly share yours. I have no desire to stay in one alone, in a cavern full of strange Elves! And I have grown used to your company. Remember, we have traveled together for nigh on three years, and there is not a night when we are not forced to sleep together.”  
“I did not think you would desire such a thing,” Legolas laughed. “Therefore, I will take you to where our room is, and then I will show you about the halls of my father, if you wish. There is to be a High Feast in our honor tonight.” Gimli glanced over at Thranduil, who was far enough away that there was no danger of him overhearing.  
“Our honor or your honor, Legolas? If you will excuse my saying so, your father does not seem to like the fact that you brought me along when you came back to your home.”  
“True,” the Elf agreed easily as they walked along a corridor, ignoring the open stares that came their way. “But then, he has not had much dealings with Dwarves, and our races are not by nature trusting of each other. I think, given time, he will grow to understand the bond between us.”  
“Perhaps,” Gimli growled, “ but time is the one thing we cannot very easily spare. How long are you planning to stay here at your home before we leave for the Mountain?” Legolas thought a moment.  
“A fortnight, maybe. I think I could gather some of my kin and prepare for the next leg of the journey in that amount of time.” Gimli muttered something into his beard and spoke.  
“We’re not in so much of a hurry that you only have two weeks with your family. We can stay for at least a fortnight and a half. Maybe a full month.” Legolas looked at him and smiled, touched by the Dwarf’s concern.  
“I thought you were not at home among my people?” They had reached the chamber, and Gimli sat down upon one of the beautifully detailed wooden chairs with a sigh.  
“No, not really, but this is a good stone palace. And you will not be at home among my people when we reach the dwarves, either. Anyway, you have not seen your family for over a year. They will want time with you.”  
“Then we will stay for a fortnight and a half.” Legolas grinned. “ And now, shall I show you how the Elves build their homes? Or would you rather unpack?” Gimli hastily dropped his large, heavy pack and rose.  
“I will see your home. There is good rock here. But you Elves spend too much time decorating.” Legolas laughed merrily as they left the room.  
“And Dwarves do not? I saw exceedingly intricate detailing on even the topmost parts of the pillars in Khazad-dum!”  
“That is…different. We Dwarves make our works to last forever. And Khazad-dum is our greatest kingdom. Besides, at the time it was built, there was friendship still between the dwarves and the elves of Hollin. Is it not written on the Door, The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria…..Celebrimbor of Erigon drew these signs? No doubt some of the decoration was the Elvish influence.” Legolas made no reply, but when Gimli looked up at him, he could see that the Elf was attempting to hold back his laughter.  
“I mean it! You Elves spend far too much time decorating. We Dwarves are much more sensible. We spend our spare time carving out new rooms in the rock.” Legolas snorted, a very unusual action for him.  
They walked for some time in silence, Legolas with an eager eye for the familiar walls of his home; Gimli looking at the stone-work.


	3. The Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever wondered what Legolas and Gimli did after the War of the Ring? Hopefully this explains it in a humourous and Tolkien-esque style.

The next morning, Legolas rose at dawn, leaving Gimli sleeping. He went to find his father and give him the news that he was not home to stay. When he returned, Gimli was up and waiting for him.  
“Well?” said Gimli.  
“Well what?” Legolas asked, straight-faced as he sat down on the elegantly carved couch.  
“You know very well what. How did the talk with your father go?’ Gimli retorted, inwardly laughing at the elf’s wide-eyed, innocent face. The Elven-prince grinned wryly.  
“Not that well. Before I even walked through the door, he demanded to know what I was doing with a Dwarf. Gloin’s son, at that. Even I thought his old anger at the Dwarves for what happened so many years ago during the quest against Smaug had diminished.”  
“The Dwarves have traded gems with your father, and been very courteous,” Gimli said, somewhat angered.  
“Old prejudices do not easily go away. I told him of our errand, and asked if he could spare a score of the Elves to accompany me. After a bit of persuasion, he agreed to send some of my kinsfolk with us. He fears for our safety, so he sent a number of our best warriors.”  
“Why, have the Orcs grown in numbers?”  
“Nay, the Wargs have multiplied. Our folk here have battled them often over the past years, and last month three of our kin were lost.”  
Gimli growled, and felt for his axe. “If I see a Warg on our journey my only response will be of glee! My axe has not felt the joy of battle for too long. So who is coming with us?”  
“My younger brother Maedhros, for one. That took a deal of persuasion.” Legolas shook his head. “My father can be very stubborn when he has a mind to.”  
“Like you,” Gimli snorted.  
“You’re more stubborn than us both put together, Gimli. There’s nothing you cannot do, once you put your mind to it. Now come, we will go out, and you may meet others. And I shall show you Greenwood the Great.”  
“Very well. But I shall take you through every nook and cranny of my home when we reach it,” Gimli warned as they left the room.

Three weeks later…  
It was two hours before sunset. Twenty-six elves and one dwarf were journeying through the wood under the shadows, and, amazingly enough, were not fighting, arguing, or otherwise at odds with each other.  
Legolas was worried. They were about a day and a half’s journey from Lake-town, where they had stopped for the night, and all had seemed well there; but now there was a sense of something evil hanging in the air.  
Gimli, too, was increasingly uneasy. He could sense the same thing, and it put him on edge.  
“Raugs!” hissed an Elf suddenly. Instantly Legolas had an arrow on the string.  
“What is it?” Gimli growled, drawing his axe.  
“Wargs,” Legolas replied, scanning the forest around them.  
“Do you hear them? How close?”  
“I can feel them in my blood,” Legolas replied. “They are very close, but there are not many of them.”  
“One is mine!” Gimli said loudly. Legolas, in spite of his discomfort, had to smile.  
There was a loud snarling, and out of the bushes on their left suddenly four Wargs sprang as one. Legolas wheeled, firing an arrow into the throat of the first, and another Elf shot a second. But the second Warg crashed into an Elf, bearing him to the ground.  
Shouting a battle cry, Gimli leaped forward, swinging his axe. The blade cleaved the Warg’s head in two. Gimli turned for the fourth Warg, but already three arrows had found their mark, and it fell dead.  
Then from behind them, on the other side of the path, four more Wargs leapt. They were met by a stream of arrows. Three fell dead, but the fourth turned and raced away through the trees. Legolas sent a swift arrow after it, catching the Warg in the leg, but to no avail. In a moment it was out of sight to all.  
Maedhros said something in Elvish. Legolas nodded, and took the lead. “Forward!” he cried, and they set off at a great pace.  
“What?” Gimli cried, panting as he ran alongside the Elf.  
“The last Warg must have gone back to the den. They will attack again, and in greater numbers.”  
Gimli growled. “I would that I had a hard rock at my back, and room to swing! But in this darkness I will find Warg-killing hard.”  
“There is a cave not far from here, about an hour if we go swiftly,” Legolas said. “If we reach it, we may hold out long.”  
“A cave! It does not compare with the caverns beneath Helm's Deep, I’ll warrant.”  
Legolas shook his head. “Nay, but it is strong and we can light a fire there.”  
“If the Wargs were smarter, they would do better not to come near me,” Gimli said. “I am just getting warmed up.”  
“Good,” Legolas said. He fell back until he was beside his brother once more. Gimli could hear their hushed voices conversing in Sindarin.  
Twenty minutes later Legolas was beside him again.  
“But even so, we must quicken our pace if we are to reach the shelter of that cave ere the Sun goes down. Already she sinks towards the Mountain-top. Hurry!”  
They reached the cave half an hour before sunset. Pulling inside the cave, they prepared as best they could for the inevitable Warg attack. They fortified the entrance with what rocks and wood they could find, leaving slits for the archers of Mirkwood.  
Then they waited. And waited.  
“I wish my father were here with some other of my kin. We know these Wargs-perhaps better than you Elves do. But he is not, and so we must do the best we can.”  
Legolas said nothing.


	4. Warg Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever wondered what Legolas and Gimli did after the War of the Ring? Hopefully this explains it in a humourous and Tolkien-esque style.

Gloin was out with ten other dwarves on a hunting party. He was, quite frankly, grumpy. They had had no success, and that was a first for Gloin. It was long past midnight- nearly five o’clock, and they were headed back towards the Mountain when Gloin heard something.  
It sounded familiar. He paused and held up a gloved hand to halt the rest of the party. The noise came again, a clear, ringing horn-call. It came for the third time, but then the sound was cut off sharply. Then he realized what it was.  
“Dori! That is Gimli’s horn or I’m an Elf,” Gloin cried. “He is in need! Come!” They began to run, small figures racing across the plain, Gloin always in the lead.  
Twenty-six elves and one dwarf were fighting desperately against near-impossible odds. The few elven arrows that had been brought were spent, though a few had missed their marks, shooting in the dark at the dark, silent Wargs. The flimsy barricade had been broken, so they were now fighting with nothing but a stone wall at their backs for protection. The Wargs were snarling just outside the ring of firelight, eyes glowing red in the dark. Every few moments several of them would lunge through and attack, and it was all the defenders could do to repel them.  
Gimli swung his axe and dropped another dead body to the ground. “Ai! Legolas, I have had enough of standing here waiting! Come on!” The Dwarf charged forward out into the darkness, Legolas just behind. The Wargs fled from them, the few too slow meeting instant death. The Elf and Dwarf stood back to back, wielding their blades furiously.  
“Keep them away from me a moment, Legolas?” he asked. Legolas nodded and shifted to stand in front of his friend. Gimli dropped his axe for a moment as he unslung a horn from his shoulder where it was hanging. Small, about as long as Legolas’s hand from wrist to finger-tip, it was crafted from fine iron. Cleverly wrought with small figures, it was also graven with dwarvish runes.  
He picked up his axe and came forwards to stand beside Legolas once more. Then he took a breath and sounded the horn. Twice he blew it, and waited. Then he wound it a third time, but five Wargs attacked at once. Two came at Legolas and the other three sprang at Gimli. The horn was knocked from his lips and trampled to the ground as he fought for his very life.  
He yanked his throwing-axe from his belt and hurled it into the throat of one Warg. Turning swiftly, he swung at a crouching shape, but his axe-haft was seized in powerful jaws. He struggled with the Warg for possession of his axe, watching for the third out of the corner of his eye.  
Legolas was little more than a moving blur as he spun his deadly white knives. One Warg met its death upon the point of the knives. Then, as he turned to deal with the last Warg, he heard a cry. Slicing the throat of the Warg instantly, he twisted about just in time to see Gimli fall to the ground, a giant Warg looming over him.  
Unbidden, a horrified cry ripped from his throat.  
“Gimli!!’ Legolas slashed his way through a Warg and threw himself bodily at the one that stood over Gimli’s body. Stabbing the Warg again and again, ignoring the minor cuts the Warg’s claws were inflicting, his mind was panicking.  
What if Gimli was dead? His dearest friend in the world --  
“Argh!” Gimli growled, swearing in Dwarvish furiously. “Cursed stinking creature!” With a heave the Dwarf shoved the heavy Warg off of him. Gimli tried to prop himself up onto his elbows, but the movement brought a stifled groan that only Legolas’s sharp ears could hear. Legolas carefully eased him up. There was a long bite wound down the Dwarf’s leg, where his legging had been torn just above his boot-top by a Warg’s teeth.  
A growl from behind him made the elf start. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the huge Warg rise and approach. Then the thing jerked and fell. It shuddered and went still. Behind it stood Maedhros. He ran over to Legolas and helped him lift Gimli.  
“Let go of me!” Gimli roared, halfheartedly struggling. The loss of blood was beginning to take its toll. Legolas and Maedhros quickly carried Gimli back towards the cave. There was a snarl from behind them. Two Elves ran past Legolas, fending off the attack.  
One came back.  
Finally they reached the cave, and Legolas helped the dwarf inside.

They had only been running for ten minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. It was near dawn now, and the night was steadily transforming into false dawn. Suddenly Gloin stopped.  
“Dori!” he called. The dwarf hurried over to him.  
“What?” Dori asked, then broke off. He followed Gloin’s pointing hand to a soft glow, about half a mile away. There were shadows silhouetted against it, and Dori could faintly hear Wargs growling and battle cries.  
Five minutes later, Gloin nearly halted again. A clear voice lifted up above the distant sounds of battle in a heart-rending cry that echoed back to the running dwarves. It was a desperate voice, and it was crying the name of his only son. He shivered involuntarily as he picked up his pace.  



	5. The Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever wondered what Legolas and Gimli did after the War of the Ring? Hopefully this explains it in a humourous and Tolkien-esque style.

No sooner than they reached the cave than Gimli collapsed. He was stalwart and uncomplaining, but his wound was bleeding badly and he had no strength left.  
Legolas half-carried and half-dragged Gimli over to lean against a pack, leaving Maedhros to guard the cave mouth. Hurriedly he dug through his small pack and produced a long strip of cloth and a flask of water. Crouching next to Gimli, he gently pulled away the ripped leather, and began to clean the wound, wincing at each hiss of pain from the dwarf. When he was finished, he began to bind the leg. The bleeding had slowed and was only a sluggish trickle of red now. Suddenly a clamor ensued outside the cave and he heard gruff cries in a strange tongue. The whimpers and growls from the Wargs grew in volume and suddenly stopped.  
Gloin thundered down a small rise and nearly collided with a large furry body. He heard a growl and plunged his axe into the Warg’s belly. Whirling, he beheaded another, crying,  
“Baruk khazad! To me! To me!” The Dwarves fearlessly plunged into the Wargs’ ranks from behind. He glimpsed a tall white shape on a hillock locked in combat with one of the creatures briefly, but paid it no heed in the heat of battle.  
Gloin swung his axe and took out the fifth Warg that was foolish enough to stand in his way, the keen steel biting deep into its neck. He turned to deal with another, only to find that there were no other Wargs left. The plateau was strewn with the corpses of the Wargs. He counted nearly three score of the foul things.  
Gloin swept the scene before him with his eyes, looking for his son, but to no avail. In the faint light from the fire and the growing dawn, he saw many Elves standing above Warg-bodies, shoulders slumped wearily. Also on the ground were the torn bodies of two Elves.  
One of the elves came towards him. His face looked vaguely familiar, but Gloin couldn’t recall where he had seen the elf before. He dismissed it as unimportant and stepped forwards, still clutching his axe.  
“Who are you that wander in our lands and where is my son Gimli?” Gloin demanded. The elf bowed slightly.  
“I am Maedhros. Your son was wounded and is within the cave. My brother is tending him.” Gloin brushed past him and hurried into the cave. There was his son, lying propped against a pack, and an Elf was kneeling next to him. With some resentment, Gloin recognized him as the son of that Elven-King of Mirkwood. Apparently, the elf-Legolas, he recalled from some hidden memory- had just finished binding up Gimli’s leg.  
All this he observed in a moment as he started forwards.

Legolas wrapped the bandage around Gimli’s leg for the last time. He was tying it off when he heard unmistakable heavy steps. Glancing up, he saw a Dwarf framed against the growing dawn. He immediately recognized him. Last time he had seen Gloin son of Groin, he had been standing as a prisoner before Legolas’s father.  
Gloin hurried forwards.  
“Gimli! What are you doing here? How badly are you hurt?” Gimli attempted to sit up, but Legolas pushed him back down.  
“Gimli, DON’T MOVE. I will sit on you if I have to. That wound must heal, and it won’t if you keep on trying to rise.” He turned to Gloin.  
“I am afraid that he is badly wounded. We need to get him somewhere warmer and better situated to tend him.” Gimli glared at Legolas.  
“Nonsense. I am perfectly capable of moving. Don’t be ridiculous.” Legolas shook his head in exasperation at his friend.  
“I am not the one being ridiculous, you are! That wound is large, and too deep for my liking. We are going to take you somewhere where you can rest and heal. Now stop arguing.” He turned his attention to Gloin, who was trying hard to keep from laughing at the way Legolas subdued Gimli. This was a strange pair before him.  
“Can we take him to a better place?” he asked. “He needs rest and some tending before he can heal.”  
“The Mountain is little less than half a day’s march from here,” Gloin replied.  
“We might reach there by noon,” Legolas mused, “after the other wounded are tended as best we may. Though Gimli must be carried.” Gimli began to protest angrily, but was cut off by a sharp glare from Legolas. Muttering something under his breath that did not sound like a compliment by any stretch of imagination, he grudgingly subsided.


	6. The Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever wondered what Legolas and Gimli did after the War of the Ring? Hopefully this explains it in a humourous and Tolkien-esque style.

They reached the mountain just after noon. Gloin and another dwarf were carrying the fuming Gimli on a makeshift stretcher, but the wounded Elves were, as they assured Legolas, very capable of walking on their own.  
Upon reaching the mountain, they were challenged by a sentry. Gloin expressed extreme indignation upon being stopped, and Gimli was positively furious.  
“Nice home, Gimli,” Legolas remarked, “if you like solid stone.”  
“It so happens that I do,” Gimli replied, “as do all of my kin. Your own home is almost wholly stone.”  
“But not entirely. I believe I have told you before: you Dwarves are strange folk.”  
“Oh? And Elves are not?” Gimli retorted. “I have also told you before: Elves are stranger than we dwarves. At least we do not weary other’s ears with perpetual singing and poetic remarks.”  
“No, you dwarves are satisfied to merely sit about and hammer endlessly away at your forges, keeping yourselves from all contact with the outside world,” Legolas said as they laid Gimli upon a couch. “Now be still while I tend to your wound.”  
“Wound? That scratch doesn’t deserve the name,” Gimli muttered.  
“I need water and fresh bandages,” Legolas stated to the air. Gloin immediately left, presumably to fetch the required instruments.  
((((  
It was fully a week before Gimli’s leg was healed enough that Legolas would allow him to rise, and then only upon the conditions that Legolas should always be with him, and that Gimli would not be on his feet for more than a half-hour at a time.  
The elves were put up with and treated with cold politeness, though Dori, Nori, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, and Dwalin hardly spoke to them, and did not speak at all to Maedhros and Legolas. Gloin, however, was courteous to them all, and did his best to make them welcome, though more for his son’s sake than from a genuine like for them. Thorin Stonehelm, the present King Under the Mountain, was also polite, but distant. He gratified every need that his strange guests might have, and generally kept out of their way.  
Gimli witnessed this dislike of his friend with rising fury. Legolas knew the signs that Gimli was about to explode, and suggested a walk outside the Mountain now that Gimli was almost completely recovered. Once safely out of Dwarvish, though perhaps not Elvish, earshot, Gimli did explode.  
After about five minutes of raving, Gimli calmed enough to allow Legolas a few words.  
“ It’s not entirely their fault, Gimli. Our races have been prejudiced against each other sine the First Age.”  
“ SO? Yes, dwarves and elves don’t as a rule like each other, but they could at least be civil!” Gimli roared. “They’re pointedly ignoring you!”  
“Only those that were a part of Thorin’s party,” Legolas said, attempting to placate his friend. He was not affronted by the dwarves’ avoidance of speaking to them; in fact, he thought it perfectly natural, considering that they had been imprisoned by his father-- rather unjustly. “And your father is courteous enough. Besides, we won’t be staying here too much longer, and those of your kin that accompany us will grow used to the idea of elves as companions and friends. You certainly did.”  
“I suppose,” Gimli grunted, still unconvinced but reconciled.  
“And don’t say anything to them,” Legolas warned. “It won’t help.”  
((((  
Two weeks later, twenty-six elves and twenty-six dwarves left the Lonely Mountain. Originally, Gimli and Legolas had planned to stop for a while in Mirkwood on the way to Gondor, but the addition of Nori to the group discouraged that idea. Frerin son of Balin, Gimli’s second cousin, was also accompanying them. He was young, only sixty-three, but his uncle Dwalin had approved his going with the company.  
The party of elves and dwarves stopped in Laketown for a night, and there the elves acquired many arrows for their bows, having recovered few unspoilt from the dead Warg bodies.  
It was a peaceful three months journeying. There was one minor skirmish with a hunting pack of ten Wargs, but the only result was that more than a few elves and dwarves were out of sorts because they had not gotten a chance at killing a Warg.  
Maedhros amazed everyone by reciting eighty-five verses of the ancient Lay of Lethian from memory, which no one had ever done before. Legolas, not to be outdone, recited Bilbo's Earendil's Lay, and was beginning another ancient lay about Finrod Felagund when the dwarves, with Gimli as their spokesman, threatened to begin having singing contests all night. The elves quickly subsided.


	7. Orc Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever wondered what Legolas and Gimli did after the War of the Ring? Hopefully this explains it in a humourous and Tolkien-esque style.

They had almost entered the borders of Gondor. They were just south of Emyn Muil, and camped for the night. The dwarves had pointedly stayed on one side of the small clearing, and the elves were on the other. Nori and Frerin were gathering firewood, as the nights had gone chilly; Maedhros and another elf named Silvad were hunting; and Legolas and Gimli were conversing by the riverbank.

“Do you feel it?” Legolas asked. “There is evil near, but not Wargs.”

“Yes,” Gimli replied slowly. “Orcs?” Legolas shook his head.

“I don’t think so. Aragorn said that the Orcs were wiped out along here.”

“He could have been mistaken,” Gimli retorted. “There isn’t a foolproof way to be certain that all the Orcs have been wiped out. There never is. Orcs have a way of finding nasty little holes to hide in.”

“I suppose,” Legolas mused. “We must stay on our guard. Especially from twilight till dawn. We should alert the others, in case they have not also felt it, and tell them to have their weapons at the ready.”  
Gimli stood up decisively and began to walk about the camp, speaking in a low voice to the dwarves. Legolas did the same with the elves, and when Nori, Frerin, Maedhros, and Silvad returned, they were also warned. No one got much sleep that night, but there was no attack, as was half-expected by all.

That day they walked at double speed and covered nearly thirteen leagues. Again, they built a large fire, as much for protection as for heat, and waited. Legolas, Gimli, Silvad, and Nori, all old campaigners, slept, but lightly.

At midnight, Legolas sat up straight. He had not heard anything, but a sudden sixth sense of approaching evil made him leap up and strain his eyes against the darkness. Gimli was at his side, listening intently. He could barely hear a few soft footfalls, and almost dismissed them as an elf's. Then Legolas dropped to the ground and pulled the dwarf with him as arrows whistled over their heads.

Legolas immediately turned, and, crouching low to the ground, returned the favor. The whole camp was alive now, the elves shooting at barely-seen targets and the dwarves lying beneath the line of fire, with arrows whistling overhead, waiting for a real attack.

It came, all too soon. Almost fifty Orcs charged them. The Orcs had stopped shooting for the charge, but the Elves continued, despite the rapidly approaching horde. They were in their element, bowstrings singing as they fired speedily and with easy accuracy.

The dwarves were little more than blurs of cutting steel as their axes whirled and cut into Orc-armor and bodies. Gimli stood beside his cousin Frerin, laughing as he shouted. “Khazad! Khazad ai-menu!”

Legolas tossed his bow to the side and pulled out his long white knives, slicing through the throat of an Orc as he leaped forwards to stand between Gimli and Maedhros. Orcs were falling like leaves wherever he looked, and no elves or dwarves had yet been wounded. Then another wave of Orcs struck.

Over threescore of them charged, and broke like water upon a dam. They broke, but not without some damage to the dam of dwarves and elves. Nori, upon Maedhros’s left, was attacked by five at once. He beheaded two with a sweeping stroke, but was tripped by an Orc-scimitar. An Orc loomed over him. Nori jerked his throwing-axe out of his belt and hurled into the Orc’s stomach. He began to rise, but was hit from behind by an Orc's blade. His dwarf-mail luckily withstood the blow, but it knocked him upon his face.

There was a growl in Orc-speech from behind him, and he tried to turn, but a foot was planted solidly upon his back. Nori heard the whistle of a swinging blade - but there came, instead of the blow he expected, a scream, and the weight upon his back suddenly lifted. He rolled over and rose, expecting an enemy, but instead he saw Maedhros, who jerked his knives out of the throat of a very large Orc and grinned at him before whirling to dispatch another Orc--the last living one upon the battle field.

Nori glanced around. About him were littered many dead bodies of Orcs. No serious injuries had been sustained upon the part of the defenders, though some minor wounds were in evidence.

“That was interesting,” Gimli remarked as he stooped to retrieve his throwing-axe. “Anyone up for some more?” Legolas turned and fixed a withering stare on him.

“Interesting?”  
Gimli shrugged.

“I suppose it was a bit on the tedious side, especially as we have to dispose of all these filthy Orc-bodies.”  
Legolas shook his head and laughed.

“How many did you get this time?”

“Sixteen,” he replied nonchalantly. “And you?”

“Nineteen,” Legolas laughed. “I have beaten you again, Master Dwarf.” Gimli snorted.

“Only because you use that bow of yours ere the proper fighting begins. Now, if you just once actually fought…” Gimli let his voice trail off suggestively.

“You say that in jealousy of my superior fighting skills,” Legolas retorted easily. “And my shooting is just as proper as your throwing-axe is. Once you forego the use of your throwing-axe, I may cease shooting. Until then, I shall continue to use my bow.”

“Superior fighting skills?!?” Gimli repeated. “Master Elf, what you speak of as ‘skills’ are immensely inferior to my own fighting abilities.”

“You are sadly deceived as to your capabilities, my dear stunted friend,” Legolas said, straight-faced. The others were looking on in amazement at the light-hearted teasing and insults that would have different members of the two races at each other’s throats by now. “However, I may assist you in building up your pitiful techniques into some type of skills worth the title, if I can find the time.”

Gimli sighed pityingly.  
“I am afraid there will be no time for you to spare, my immortally proud friend, or myself for that matter. You shall be too occupied in getting into trouble, and I in saving your sorry hide.”

“I believe you have got the order backwards,” said Legolas amiably. “You shall be too busy getting into scrapes and I in rescuing you from your own folly.”

Gimli rolled his eyes expressively and turned away. It was the general opinion that Legolas had won this round of the verbal war, and also that the Orcs should be properly disposed of ere they began to stink.


	8. In Gondor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever wondered what Legolas and Gimli did after the War of the Ring? Hopefully this explains it in a humourous and Tolkien-esque style.

It was not quite two weeks later that they reached Minas Tirith, and were there most warmly welcomed. The travel-worn party for the most part ate and slept, but Legolas and Gimli had a private audience with the King and Queen. And Faramir and Eowyn were there. They had been waiting at Minas Tirith for almost a week so that they could be there when Legolas, Gimli, and their kin arrived.  
“And what has happened in our absence?” Legolas inquired, sitting down beside Arwen.  
“Not much,” Faramir said thoughtfully. “There have been a few minor skirmishes on the south-eastern border, but only one pitched battle. It was on the border of Rohan, and was a good deal of the Orcs of Mordor and some Moria Orcs trying to break out and retreat to Moria.  
“Eomer managed to learn of their plans and sent a messenger here with a request for aid. The King and I left immediately, though much to Arwen and Eowyn’s consternation.”  
Arwen flushed at the teasing remark and Eowyn glared at him.  
“I was only worried that you would rip that new banner we spent so much time on,” she said defensively. Aragorn laughed. “Anyway, Faramir, it was only six months after our marriage. I wanted you to myself, and you keep on going off to these battles.”  
“These fights are necessary distractions,” Aragorn pointed out. “If we do not fight we cannot have peace. I would rather stay here as well, but I have a duty to my people.”  
“Though the Queen would probably wish that you did not have a duty to your people,” Gimli said dryly.  
“But what was the outcome of the battle, Aragorn?” Legolas asked, seeing Arwen’s embarrassment.  
“Well, it was clearly in our favor,” came the reply, “as I am still here and in relatively good shape. Orcs are not very formidable opponents, but strength is always greater when you are desperate and fighting for your life.”  
“You say this from experience,” Legolas commented reflectively. “As our strength was the greater in the last battle before the Black Gates. Though I suppose it was not too difficult to extinguish the Orcs.”  
“No. We had a nice little fight, rested up, and took a scenic route home,” Faramir said.  
“A long route home,” Eowyn corrected. Turning to Legolas, she asked “Would you believe that he took almost three weeks in returning? He is much too wayward. I shall have to tie him down to keep him with me.”  
“Tied to my wife’s apron strings,” Faramir sighed. “What a way to spend my life. I won’t even be able to attend Eomer’s wedding.”

“Eomer is getting married?!” Gimli cried, sitting straight up in surprise.  
“Yes,” Faramir said, grinning. “It was somewhat of a shock to the rest of us as well.”  
“To who?”  
“Imrahil’s daughter Lothliriel,” Aragorn interjected. “She met him at the crowning, and he fell in love with her. They decided to be wed next spring so that you two could attend.”  
“You should be grateful,” Eowyn said. “Usually my brother waits for nothing and no one. He was never a very patient man.” Legolas smiled, but Gimli snorted.  
“Luckily, I do not have to live in Rohan with him and his impatient temper for another year at least. I will be very busy rebuilding your damaged doors, Aragorn.”  
“I daresay you shall,” Aragorn replied. “But what of yourselves? Surely you did not travel all the way without something happening. What tales can you tell us?”  
"Nothing really," Gimli replied. Legolas had a sudden coughing fit.  
"You’re a liar," Eowyn informed the dwarf bluntly. "What happened?"  
"Well," Gimli said, "after we left Laketown, about half a day’s journey from the Lonely Mountain…"

_Author’s note._  
It was, indeed, a year before the gates were entirely finished. They were wrought of mithril and steel, though it is not recorded where the mithril was obtained. The following spring Eomer married Lothiriel and the winter of that year Eowyn and Faramir’s first child was born. In the year 1323, Lothiriel gave birth to a boy that she and Eomer named Elfwine. Maedhros and Nori became good friends over the course of time, and would accompany their respective relatives to each other’s homes several times a year.

**The End.**


End file.
